Finding Each Other in New Vegas
by LemonsAreSweet
Summary: Charlie and Monroe travel to New Vegas, where Monroe returns to the fighting ring and they discover their feelings for each other. Charloe/lemons every step of the way. Takes place mid-S2 but no Connor, no Rachel really, just Charlie and Monroe. Rated M for violence and did I mention lemons?
1. Chapter 1

It had been almost a week seeing only his face. As they traveled through Texas, at first they'd stopped in small settlements along the way. But now they were in the long stretch between the border of Texas and New Vegas-in the Wasteland. It was always a fraught experience running into others on the road out here. On one hand, novel human contact was reassuring when you thought you just might be going insane from looking at the same butte in the distance for the last five hours. On the other hand, another human was always someone who could kill you. Not that she worried too much about that with Monroe at her side.

Charlie glanced up at him, riding several paces ahead of her on his horse, she on hers. When they returned to Texas with the men they were going to pick up, everyone would walk back and it would take twice as long. But for now it was just the two of them, and they were making good time crossing the desert. The horses were energetic, and their riders rarely stopped to rest. Resting meant talking, and neither of them wanted to do too much of that.

They rode far later into the night than what typical travel called for-past when the red of the sun dipped below the horizon, past when the stars became dimly visible, until their horses refused to go any further because they couldn't see their feet in front of them. Monroe called back to her that they would pull off and stop here, and once they'd dismounted, the horses got to work inhaling the desert scrub. Monroe and Charlie silently gathered branches to start the fire. One nice thing about traveling in the desert was it was never hard to get the fire going.

With the orange glow crackling in front of them, they pulled dinner out of their respective packs and got to work. The fire was for light, reassurance, warmth and comfort, but not cooking. Charlie absently downed her meal of canned beans. She'd have liked fresh meat, but hunting in the desert was basically impossible unless a hog or hare wandered into your camp. She glanced up and saw Monroe staring at her with the penetrating gaze she'd come to expect. Her stomach clenched as it always did when he looked at her that way, and she quickly lowered her eyes, kicking herself. _Why don't you call him out next time?_ she thought. _"What are you looking at?_" Charlie sighed. She told herself that every time. On the other side of the fire, she saw Monroe look down and resume eating his own meal. She was glad he was a safe distance away this time.

A few nights before, he hadn't been sitting on the other side of the fire but sharing a large rock with her. As they sat, he reached forward with a stick in hand to adjust the logs. His arm brushed against hers when he reached out, and again when he pulled back. Charlie's heartbeat quickened, and she got very still, trying to act like she didn't notice. Monroe certainly didn't seem to have. Then again a few minutes later, he leaned even further over, dragging an escaped twig back into the fire pit. When he sat down, he did so significantly closer to her, so his hip and thigh dragged against hers, and he settled in flush against her. Her heart hammering in her chest, she could only stand it for a minute or so before she flew to her feet under the pretext of going to the bathroom. As she walked away on rubbery legs, she could feel Monroe's eyes burning into her back and thought she might have heard a low chuckle.

Charlie was sure at this point that it wasn't her imagination that Monroe kept finding excuses to touch her. She hadn't needed help getting on a horse since she was twelve years old. But that morning, as she prepared to mount, Monroe came and stood behind her, firmly (and unnecessarily) placing a hand on her hip to steady her as she got up. Once she was in place, he let his hand run a few inches along the length of her thigh before pulling away. "Thanks," she said so quietly she wasn't sure he heard, rolling her eyes internally at herself even as she did it.

Charlie was no meek schoolgirl. She'd survived, she'd fought, she'd killed in cold blood. But these past few days, on the road with Monroe, just the two of them, she found herself slipping into a duality with him. He was confident, brusque, bold, demanding. She'd become unsure, accommodating, quiet, and acquiescent. _It doesn't matter_, she thought to herself. _It's just because we're out here. Things will be back to normal soon. _

But she knew it was more than that. She'd always been intensely attracted to Monroe physically. Even when he was the evil dictator, General Monroe, she'd have to have been blind not to notice his chiseled jawline, bright eyes, beautifully cruel smirk and his corded, tight body. Since the last time they were in New Vegas, he'd saved her life several times, and her feelings had grown into something more like a crush. Now that she suspected the attraction might not be entirely one-sided, she barely knew how to act around him.

_He's probably just bored because his options are to either flirt with me or flirt with a cactus. Once we're in New Vegas, surrounded by all his favorite whores, he'll stop_. She already felt the disappointment, but resigned herself to it.

"Hey Charlie." Monroe's voice was slightly raspy from disuse during their day of silence. "When we get to New Vegas tomorrow… don't try to kill me again."

She snorted. "Can't make any promises. Don't piss me off and you'll be fine."

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she thought she saw a corner of his mouth quirk in a half smile. "Even if I do, try to control yourself."

"Nah," she mused. "I probably won't kill you. Over the last couple months, you've proven yourself to be pretty useful." She was referring to everything from him saving her life multiple times to slaughtering dozens of Patriots by her side.

"Trust me, babe. You've barely scratched the surface of how useful I can be." Monroe stretched the words out languidly, loading them with meaning. He raised his eyes skyward as he spoke, almost as if he were talking to himself, seemingly exiting the conversation with that final one-liner.

Seeing that he expected no response, and having no idea what to say anyway, Charlie let his words sink in. They had the intended effect, she was sure, as she began to imagine a few ways he could be useful to her. _His body on top of hers, naked, slick, hot, filling her with fast, determined strokes… His strong arm holding her face down against a bed as he slammed into her from behind, drawing screams from her throat with each thrust… His strong fingers of one hand deep in her mouth, the other hand down below, pushing into her in sync, making her gag… _Shaking her head, she rose to her feet, laid out her bedroll, and announced to Monroe that she was going to sleep.

He simply nodded, getting up, grabbing his pack, and coming around to where she was. As he did every night, he laid between her and the dark wilderness beyond, so the fire guarded her one side and he the other. Though she hardly needed the protection, it was a small act of chivalry that made her heart melt every time.

"'Night, Charlie," he muttered once he was laying beside her, almost asleep already.

"Goodnight," she whispered back.

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They rode into New Vegas the following afternoon. As they'd planned, they headed directly to the set of tents where Monroe once made his living, fighting bloody battles for the entertainment of crowds every night. Charlie watched him covertly for any sign that he was having a hard time returning to the scene of a dark period in his life, then caught herself, realizing he'd had far darker. In any event, he seemed perfectly businesslike as he threw back the tan flap of the large tent that served as the main bar and dance floor/fight ring where his former boss, Gould, could usually be found. Closely clustered around it were several tents that served as whorehouses.

The place was still relatively quiet this early in the day, though there were some men bellied up to the bar. A few bored whores stood near the wall, talking amongst themselves, not even looking at the men, seemingly unmotivated to drum up business yet. Monroe wasted no time in striding over to the bartender, as Charlie hustled behind.

"Hey, Steve," he said in what was in Charlie's opinion one of the nicest tones of voice she'd ever heard him use. "How ya doing? Been awhile, good to see you, man," as he held out his hand for a firm shake and mutual slap on the back not-quite-hug with the redheaded bartender.

"You too, Jimmy," the bartender said without missing a beat. "I'm good, I'm good, same old, you know. You back in town?"

"Just for a couple nights. Is Gould around? I have a business proposition for him."

"Yea, that old shitbag is in his trailer. For you, I'll risk life and limb to go get him."

Monroe actually smiled and quickly laughed. "Thanks, I owe you one." Steve turned to head out from behind the bar but hesitated, looking at Charlie who was obviously hovering next to Monroe's shoulder. Monroe followed his gaze and added, "Oh. This is Charlie. Charlie, Steve."

Steve nodded, "Hey," and continued on, heading out a flap opposite the one they'd entered.

Monroe and Charlie stood for several minutes, until Steve returned with Gould in tow. Gould looked simultaneously thrilled and furious to see Monroe in his bar.

"What the hell are you doing here? You leave me high and dry with no warning and just come waltzing back in here like the queen of France two months later? Are you kidding me?" Gould wastes no time with pleasantries.

"I was kidnapped by bounty hunters," Monroe said flatly.

"Hey, Jimmy, I don't wanna know about any of that shit. What, it took you two months to escape? Whatever, I don't need to hear it. What do you want? Steve said something about a business proposition?" Now his mood had shifted and his eyes were narrowed with eagerness and avarice. "Whattya got for me?"

"Me," Monroe said. "Two night appearance. Five hundred diamonds. Take it or leave it."

Gould glanced at Charlie suddenly, as if just noticing her. "I don't discuss business in front of strangers," he pronounced. He grabbed Monroe's arm and pulled him over to a table in the corner. Steve had already returned to the bar, and Charlie wandered over there and perched on a stool, watching the two men in the corner.

Steve came over, pouring her a glass of liquor, "On the house. Any friend of Jimmy's is a friend of ours."

Charlie took it gratefully, in desperate need of a drink after their long journey. She drained it in a swallow and put it down softly. Steve smirked, grabbed the bottle, and refilled. This time she took it easy, swirling the liquor around in the glass for a moment before saying, "It's so weird to hear you all calling him Jimmy."

Steve glanced around quickly and leaned in toward her. After a slight hesitation, he said, "Look, Charlie, this may be the Wasteland, but we're not a bunch of hicks. We recognize that man over there for who he is. But Gould says he's Jimmy King, so he's Jimmy King. That goes for you, too."

"Why?" she asked.

"Your man just said bounty hunters kidnapped him. Coulda been from Texas, coulda been from California. Both nations are hunting Sebastian Monroe and have made it clear that anyone giving aid or shelter to him would be put to death. So, Gould isn't employing that man. He employs Jimmy King."

Charlie nodded, understanding, then felt the need to clarify, "He's not my man. We're just…" Not friends. "Traveling together."

Steve looked at her skeptically, but said, "Got it. Well, you're probably better off. You don't seem like his usual type."

"What's his usual type?"

"For hire," Steve said. "Not that there weren't plenty trying to give it for free. But he always told me it was easier than the muss and fuss of free tail. Maybe he didn't put it quite like that."

"Charming," Charlie said. She hated herself for needing to ask the next question, but hoped Steve wouldn't think anything of it. "So there were, uh, a lot of… women for hire? That he hired?" _Damnit, Charlie, shut up_.

"Uh, yeah, you could say that. Basically every night after he fought. Usually someone different. No one could ever handle him for very long." Steve glanced guiltily up at the table where Monroe and Gould were still talking. "But whatever, it's not my business."

Charlie nodded, sensing he was done feeding her information. Anyway, Monroe and Gould were coming toward them now. Monroe looked grim; Gould looked satisfied. Charlie hoped this meant Monroe was able to bargain for the five hundred diamonds they needed to hire twenty men from Duncan's militia to help them fight the Patriots.

"All set?" Charlie asked.

"Yeah, we're good," Monroe said. "Let's get out of here."

"See you tonight!" Gould said with a singsong lilt to his voice. "Fight's at ten! Don't be late!" He watched them as they made their way out, brushing past him as they went.

As Monroe lifted the tent flap, he muttered, "I know when the fucking fight is."

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Charlie stood at the back of the crowd gathered for the fight. Candles, torches, and lanterns cast the room in long shadows. The scent of liquor, tobacco, and sweat filled the air. Charlie felt out of place in her jeans and tank top among the women, all of whom were wearing flimsy dresses or even less. Last time she'd been there, her mind was totally consumed with her murderous mission. This time, she cared about blending into the crowd.

The air crackled with tension and anticipation. The return of Jimmy King! Rumors had been flying all afternoon about where he had been, why he returned. Charlie had heard that he had tried to assassinate the President of California, had led a war clan to invade Austin, and that he'd been ordained a Catholic priest, among other crazy things. She stayed silent, realizing the danger in knowing Monroe's true identity and not wanting to give anything away inadvertently.

This would be the first time she'd seen Monroe in the ring since the night she tried to kill him. That night, she'd been so blind with rage, combined with the euphoria of having finally found him, that she didn't recall the fight itself clearly. But she knew he was good. He'd told her stories, and she knew his record. Unbeaten. She wasn't nervous for him; they were both confident he would win.

As the chatter of the crowd turned to hoots and screams, Charlie craned her neck and saw him being announced. Her breath caught in her chest. Monroe looked like a god. He was clad only in the leather pants he always wore to fight, laced low on his taut stomach. No shoes. Leather straps wrapped around his knuckles for some small protection. The expression on his face was absolutely fierce yet detached. Charlie thought he'd never looked so beautiful.

His opponent stepped up into the ring, and the crowd got even louder. The man was about Monroe's size, bald, and covered in tattoos from his waist to his neck. He kept sticking his tongue out and wiggling it at the crowd. The announcer called his name out, "And the challenger…. Troy Malum!"

The bell rang. From the back, Charlie couldn't see most of what was going on, but she didn't want to get any closer. She kept her eyes on Monroe when she could. She admired the flex of his arm as he sent a punishing blow across Malum's face. She heard his primal grunt as Malum got a shot in, then his roar of exertion as he gave one back. The fight wasn't long. After a few intense minutes, she saw Monroe standing up straight with the announcer holding his hand in the air in victory. Between the thronging bodies, she saw Malum crawling to the edge of the ring.

Immediately, Monroe was surrounded with admirers. Men wanting to shake his hand and thank him for the diamonds he'd just made them on his first fight back in months. Women wanting… other things. Charlie seethed with jealousy as she watched at least three scantily clad women rubbing Monroe's sweaty chest and purring in his ear. He'd acted like going to do the fight was such a chore. Yeah, right. Charlie was sure he just hated having an entire bar full of people fawning over him. One of the women pulled Monroe's face to hers and favored him with a tongue-heavy kiss on the mouth.

That was it. Charlie whirled and stomped out of the tent. She couldn't watch any more.

Once she was free of the humid, smoky room, she strode straight for the edge of town and when she reached it, kept going. She walked out and out into the desert, much farther than was sensible, until the sounds of the city faded into the wind. She glanced over her shoulder every so often to make sure she could still see the lights of the city: the bonfires, lanterns and candles calling her back to safety. She wanted to get as far away as she could. Away from Monroe, away from her feelings for him. As much as she'd tried to ignore it, she wanted him. It didn't matter that he was so much older. It didn't matter that he was her uncle's best friend. It didn't matter that he had been-and possibly still was-a remorseless murderer. Despite it all, she was drawn to him, falling for him more every day.

Being alone with him on the road, she'd gotten spoiled, she now realized. She'd gotten used to his attention being only on her. Actually, it went back further than that, since the only other women Monroe spent any time with back in Texas were her mother and Cynthia. Neither much of a threat. But here, in New Vegas, Charlie realized just how out of her league Monroe was, how foolish she'd been to think he was attracted to her. He just hadn't had any other options.

Tears streamed down her face now as she cried. She'd allowed herself to start to really care about Monroe, to think that maybe the next time he flirted with her would be the time it escalated to the next step. That he might not just hold her for a moment here or there, but take her in his arms and not let go. _I'm such an idiot_, she thought.

Even more idiotic, she was now thirsty and probably an hour's walk out into the desert, empty-handed. Immediately she began to make her way back to the dull yellow smudge on the horizon that she knew was the town. Trudging over scrub bushes and ducking around cactuses, she tried to clear her mind and compose herself. She would have to face Monroe at some point-their hotel rooms were right next door to each other, and he'd made it clear that she was not to spend the night anywhere else. She smirked at that, allowing a tiny spark of hope that he was actually interested to stay alive.

As she was almost back to the town, close enough that she could begin to hear shouts and strains of music, she saw a figure silhouetted subtly beside the outline of a rock formation. She halted and pulled her knife from where she had it sheathed in her pants pocket. Slowly, she crept toward the person, preserving the element of surprise. Charlie couldn't tell whether his back was toward her-for it was definitely a man.

Just as she was within several feet, the man whipped around lightning fast, lunging at her and grabbing her still-lowered knife arm. He slammed her up against a rock, not even breathing hard. In the dim moonlight, they recognized each other.

**A/N: I have about three or four more chapters of this written already, so they'll be posted pretty soon. Please leave reviews and let me know how I'm doing on my first fanfiction attempt!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Lemons and violence ahead—last warning!**

"Damnit, Charlie, you almost got yourself killed," Monroe's voice was matter-of-fact, but his heart was racing. She had no idea how close he'd been to killing this intruder first, asking questions later. Taking a few steps back, he asked, "What the hell are you doing out here? I thought you were back at the hotel."

"What about you?" she snapped back. "Why aren't you back at the bar basking in your glory with your hordes of admirers?"

Monroe snorted. Charlie was such a child sometimes. He'd come out this far into the desert to get away from all that, wasn't it obvious? Nowhere in New Vegas provided any refuge, and he'd needed to be alone with his thoughts. As soon as Gould had let him, he'd thrown a t-shirt and boots on and made his way out into the wilderness.

Normally after a fight, he was happy to find the whore who best suited his mood that evening-tall, short, exotic, plain, lush, spare-and take her back to his trailer and do unspeakable things to her. So he'd been disturbed to find himself brushing off the various gorgeous women who were flinging themselves at him after the fight, searching the crowd with increasing distraction for one woman in particular-Charlie.

He'd known he was in trouble for a long time. He'd tried to fight it, telling himself she was literally half his age, that his best friend Miles would surely murder him for even thinking about her that way, let alone acting on it. Part of him had chalked it up to being in Willoughby, and then on the road, where female company was in short supply to say the least. Not that a man had to be desperate to appreciate Charlie's full lips, curvy ass, and long legs. He'd gotten to the point where he couldn't resist finding excuses to be close to her, touch her. But he'd figured that a return to New Vegas, with its wealth of pulchritude, would clear his head. Now he realized he was just as infatuated with her here as anywhere else.

Still, she was frustrating, always seeming to expect the worst of him. "My hordes of admirers? Are you serious? We needed that money, Charlie. Or have you forgotten why we're here?"

After a few seconds of quiet, she asked, "Okay, we need the money now. But what about before? You fought here for months. Are you telling me you didn't do it for the fame? The women?"

Monroe barked a bitter laugh. How ironic that she was lecturing him about other women when she was the one he couldn't get out of his mind. Was she jealous? Maybe so, and in any case, she was dead wrong about his reasons for fighting.

Stepping closer to her, he darkly informed her, "I did it for the pain. The blood. It was a way to survive doing what I do best. And it was a release that kept me on the right side of sanity. Mostly." He thought of a few whores who'd born the brunt when it hadn't.

"What about now that you're not fighting?" she challenged him.

"I have other things to distract me. Like keeping you and your family alive."

"Funny, you didn't seem too concerned with keeping my family alive when you were the General," she retorted.

Monroe flinched inwardly at this reminder of the pain he'd caused her. "You have no idea what you're talking about," he spat. "What I've done. What's in my head. None of it."

In the dim light, he saw her shrug. "Just saying. Must be hard to stay sane, as you put it, without beating someone to a bloody pulp every night. How do you get that release you need oh-so-badly?" she asked in a mocking tone.

Part of him wanted to tell her the truth, to wipe the smirk off her face. He now had that release only when thinking of her. _His hand wrapped around his hard cock, fisting his straining erection, mind racing with thoughts of Charlie… her legs spread as wide as they would go, for him… touching herself… lifting a moist finger to dip it between her lips, holding his hot gaze all the while... His body clenching with a powerful orgasm as he groaned her name… _He wrenched himself back to the present, trying to ignore the effect his brief thoughts had on his body.

"The fuck do you care how I do or don't get release?" He stepped toward her again, closing the gap between them completely. Bending down to her ear, he growled, "Are you going to give it to me?"

Charlie gasped as he rubbed himself against her, making her feel his arousal pressing her body into the rock surface. His low voice continued, "Cause I'm telling you, Charlotte. I could really fucking use it." With that, he smashed his lips into hers, pulling a surprised moan from her throat. She opened to him immediately, and their tongues and teeth clashed heatedly. God, she tasted amazing. His hands worked up and down her body, touching everywhere, running over her breasts, up her arms now twined around his neck, and back down, dipping quickly between her legs and around to her ass. He grabbed onto it, pulling her hard against him, dry humping her, making his intentions clear.

In response, Charlie threw her legs up around his waist, and he groaned with desire. He pulled down one strap of her tank top, sucking on the exposed flesh there, on her neck, then back to her mouth with urgency. Her hands were glued to his back, holding him close as she shifted her hips back and forth against him. Just as she found a steady pace, he pulled her away from the rock, and her feet hit the ground. "Pants off. Now." he commanded, and she quickly unlaced and kicked off her boots. They were both breathing hard as she hesitated with her hands at her waist. Impatiently, Monroe grabbed her waistband and pulled her toward him, popping the button and zipper open with all-too-practiced aplomb. He thrust her jeans halfway down her thighs then ran his hand up and over her mound, trailing up her stomach then back down into her center.

She was so wet for him, he was shocked. It was the confirmation he'd been waiting for, that this thing, whatever it was, wasn't one-sided. She felt it too. She wanted him too. His fingers roughly explored her flesh, dipping inside her to coat his fingers with her juices. Charlie moaned, and he immediately pulled his hand away and thrust his now-damp fingers into her waiting mouth. She latched on eagerly, sucking them, bathing them with her tongue. Goddamnit. She was unbelievable.

Unable to stand it any longer, Monroe turned Charlie so her back was to him, her hands pressed against the rock in front of her, her ass pushed out toward him. Wasting no time, he grabbed for the ties of his leather pants and undid them, pushing them slightly down his hips and pulling out his pulsing erection. He noticed that at some point, Charlie had taken her pants the rest of the way off. She now waited, pressed against the wall, open and ready for him. He molded himself to her back, his cock pressing up against her ass cheeks. Reaching his arms around her and up under her tank top, kneading her breasts, drawing her into him, he murmured, "This is it, Charlotte. After this, you're mine. No going back." In response, she looked over her shoulder at him, eyes half-closed with lust, lips full from his kisses, and whispered simply, "Okay."

That single word was everything. One of his hands braced on her hip, and the other grabbed his hard cock, guiding it along her slippery folds. He found her entrance and, wracked with lust, he thrust into her in one long stroke, eliciting a loud cry from her that echoed in the quiet desert like a shot. God, Charlie was so tight, so wet, so hot for him. Monroe thrust at a punishing tempo, slamming into her with brutal strength. He'd waited so long, and all the anticipation and frustration and need erupted in that moment. Dimly, he registered that Charlie's face and chest were pressed into the wall and she was barely holding herself up. She arched her back, and he felt himself hitting her at another angle, bottoming out inside her. In this new position, she began moaning his name. "Bass… Bass… Oh God uhh, Bass…" Without warning, her body spasmed into orgasm, soaking them both in her pleasure.

The sound of his name dropping from her lips, the feel of her tight sheath shuddering, the raw hunger he felt, propelled him over the edge. Releasing an animalistic groan, hands digging cruelly into her hips, he pushed himself as far into her as he could go as he exploded, filling her with his seed. He thrust into her a few more times as he came down from his high, letting Charlie back to the ground as he realized he'd pushed her up the wall with his force. Still inside her, he pulled her back into his arms, pressing his forehead into her neck and emitting a vocal sigh. Charlie panted quietly, clinging to his forearms that were wrapped around her chest.

After a few minutes, he released her and stepped back, pulling up his pants. Charlie found hers and did the same, turning toward him but not looking up at him. With her hair falling in her face, illuminated by white moonlight, she suddenly looked so very young and innocent. _Shit._ Monroe thought. _What did I just do? _But though he knew he should probably be feeling guilt or regret, all he wanted to do was laugh out loud. He was practically giddy. He, who was always so angry, so calculating, felt more carefree than he had in years, here in this dark desert with her and what they'd just shared. Release, indeed.

Finally, he noticed that she was completely silent. "You okay?" he asked carefully. Charlie nodded, keeping her head down. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. "You gonna say anything?"

"I'm fine," she said shortly, looking away. "I'm great."

This was not the reaction of a woman overwhelmed by joy. Immediately, he felt like a jerk. What had he done wrong? Had he pushed too fast? Had he taken advantage of her? The uncertainty irritated him, and he spoke briskly. "Alright, well, I should get back and sleep. I've got the fight tomorrow, and I'm meeting Duncan in the morning." He took a few steps and noticed Charlie was still rooted in place. "You coming?"

"No," she said. "You go ahead. I'm gonna stay out here awhile longer." She gazed off into space as if deep in thought.

Frustrated, he threw his arms out and rolled his eyes to the sky. "Seriously, Charlie? You're going to stay alone out here? Where anyone can find you, rape you, and murder you? For how long?"

"I was doing just fine until I ran into you," she replied calmly.

Her use of the word "until" did not go unnoticed. So, what, now she wasn't fine? He gave up. Fixing her for a few seconds with a furious glare, he finally turned and strode back toward New Vegas, feeling the pull of her behind him the entire way.

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The sound of a barker outside his window woke Monroe with a start. "Best breakfast in New Vegas, get your morning after cure here! Get the day started off right at Lenny's, two for one special for your someone special! Breakfast here!" His arm smoothed across the bed next to him. Empty. Of course. Remembering last night, he closed his eyes with pleasure. Kissing Charlie. Holding her. Fucking her. Then leaving her in the desert…

His eyes sprang open. Jesus, did she even make it back last night? An irrational need to see her overcame him. Quickly, he jumped out of bed where he'd been lying naked, threw on a pair of jeans from his pack, and stormed out of his hotel room.

He got to her door and wrenched it open, breathless with panic, only to see her lying tangled in her sheets in the morning sunlight. Alone. His stomach dropped in relief. _Thank God_. Monroe hadn't even realized how desperate he was to confirm that she wasn't with someone else, until he had. For a few seconds, he gazed at her, his expression stoic, amazed at how beautiful she was asleep. He almost always rose before her and loved seeing her peaceful and vulnerable in sleep.

Now that the urgency had left him, he tried to step back into the hallway, but of course his crashing into her room had woken Charlie. She lifted her head, still groggy, and focused on him standing before her clad only in jeans. Monroe saw the moment the memories of last night came flooding back to her. Her eyes widened in what looked like equal parts panic, fear, and excitement. Quickly, she sat up, pulling the sheet up over her chest and hooking her arms around her knees defensively.

"Why the hell are you in my room?" she asked, her anger a bit overdone, in his opinion. "What do you want?"

Well, now that he had her attention. He closed the door behind him and walked over so that his knees were nearly touching the edge of her bed. Her eyes were glued to his face, her head tilting up to follow him. "I may not have been entirely clear about something last night," he said. He paused, not sure if he should go further, say it all. Charlie's blue eyes stared at him, her brow furrowed adorably in confusion. _Fuck it. _

"I want you," he continued. "Not just against a rock in the fucking desert in the middle of the night. Every night. Every day. Right now." Her face dawned with realization, and he thought he saw the beginnings of a smile on her lips. She began to open her mouth to respond, but before she could, he took one of her forearms in his hand and pulled her slowly out of the bed to stand before him. As the sheet slid away, he saw that she also slept naked, and he grunted his approval. Standing facing him, not touching other than where his hand was still on her arm, Charlie waited.

Slowly, Monroe ran his hand up her arm, over her shoulder and behind her neck, pulling her face toward his. Their lips met in a light, gentle kiss, contrasting with the ferocity of the night before. His other hand traveled up her hip, her waist, to cover her breast, which he rubbed and kneaded, pinching her nipple lightly, eliciting a squeak against his lips. He pressed against her lips more urgently in response, plunging his tongue into her mouth, placing both thumbs over her nipples to feel the swell of her breasts beneath his hands. She was so perfectly formed.

Then Monroe did something he almost never did, period: sank to his knees. On the floor before Charlie, he knelt, licking his way down her stomach as he went. She watched him. He pulled her thighs apart and immediately thrust his tongue into her cunt, tasting her. Charlie was already soaking wet, her sex swollen with want for him. He ran his tongue up and down her slit until she was crying out with pleasure. Working her clit expertly, he plunged two fingers into her, moving steadily, responding to her moans and movements. Suddenly, her hips bucked against him and she buried her hands in his hair, holding him in place as she came.

Leaning back slightly, Monroe rested his cheek against her briefly, then got up and took her naked body in his arms again. Charlie raised her hands to his chest and pushed at him. "Your turn now," she said. Monroe was confused as she kept pushing him backward, til his knees hit the small desk chair in her hotel room. A silly relic, that, he thought idly, a holdover from times when people actually did business in hotel rooms. When business travel was a thing. He shook his head as he sat down. _Focus_.

Charlie knelt on the floor in front of him and ran her hands up his jean-clad legs. "Hmm… what have we here?" she mused impishly as she ran her hands lightly over the bulge of his erection, straining against the worn denim. She glanced up teasingly at Monroe, who gave her a stern look. _Don't tease me_. At that, she smiled even wider and ran her hands under his waistband, along his flat stomach, her fingers brushing the head of his cock. Monroe made a strangled sound and exhaled sharply.

Finally, Charlie unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock. From the look on her face as she ran her small hands over it, she approved. Monroe moved slightly, trying to get more friction out of her. In response, she lowered her mouth toward his crotch, taking the head of his penis into her mouth. She was all softness and wetness and heat, and Monroe thought nothing had ever felt so good. Up and down she worked, taking more and more of him with each pass, until he felt himself touch the back of her throat. She gagged on him, pulled off, and plunged down, gagging harder as he rammed into her soft palate. Monroe rolled his head back and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to last long if she kept doing that.

After a few more strokes, he put his hand in her hair and grabbed a fistful of it to still her movements. She looked up at him, her hand still wrapped around his rock hard penis. He met her eyes and pulled her up toward him by the hair, commanding her: "Ride me."

Clambering up his body somewhat awkwardly, Charlie straddled his lap, his cock resting against her mound. She found her footing and raised herself up, taking him in her hand. Biting her lip in concentration to maintain her balance, she worked his cock against her slit, wetting it, driving him insane with need of her. Just before he lost it and grabbed her to slam her onto the bed and into her at his own pace, she placed him at her entrance and sank down. He hissed as if in pain with the ecstasy of it. Spreading her legs wide to get him as deep as possible, Charlie rocked back and forth on him, pounding her clit against his public bone, her breasts bouncing with her gyrations. It felt like she was pulling him into her, and he began to lose control. Beneath her, his balls tightened, and he pulled her down on him violently as he came inside her. "Charlotte," he breathed out. "Charlotte." He captured her mouth in a kiss he hoped said it all, how much she meant to him, how happy he was, how he felt so empty in the best possible way.

Charlie rested her forehead in the side of his neck and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She seemed content to stay put for a long time. After a while, regretfully, Monroe pulled her back. Their gazes met, and she leaned in for another kiss. He responded, languidly moving his lips across hers, running his hands across her back. When they parted, he pushed his hips up in an unspoken, "Get up." She frowned at him, and he explained, "I gotta go get ready to meet Duncan." She flinched and scrambled up immediately, turning her back to him and pulling on clothes.

_Probably could have phrased that better_, he thought, stepping into his own jeans. "Are you coming to the fight tonight?" he asked, seeking to make amends.

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know. I couldn't see much last night." She now stood before him in her own jeans and a tight, faded red t-shirt.

Monroe pulled her into his arms, but she held her face back, looking up at him. He stared into her eyes. "Come. I want you there." With that, he dropped her head to hers for one last, searing kiss. She nodded. Then he was out the door.

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Entering the tent that night, Monroe was coiled with tension, even though everything had gone fine with Duncan that morning. She'd accepted his price of five hundred diamonds for twenty men, and he'd selected the group that would be departing with him and Charlie in the morning. _If the fight goes okay, that is_, he thought. _If I live. _

For tonight's fight was the ultimate battle-a fight to the death. He'd done plenty of them when he'd first arrived in New Vegas after the bombs fell. Back then, he hardly valued his own life. Gambling with it for a significantly higher payday was worth it, and somehow feeling the life pulsing out of the men in the ring with him helped. Soothed the screaming demon inside, at least for a while. But as the weeks passed and he returned to reality, to sanity, he told Gould no more. It wasn't worth it. He wanted to live. Though he'd never lost a fight, anything could happen in the ring. He'd delivered the unexpected to enough men to know it.

Locating Gould, Monroe strode up to him, front and center of the crowd. Gould didn't usually deign to come to regular matches, but fights to the death were something special. Even in the hellscape that the world had become, public murder was still somewhat taboo. "Jimmy!" Gould exclaimed, his glee evident in his broad grin. He held up a hand as if to slap Monroe on the back, but the deathly glare on Monroe's face stopped him. The hand dropped uselessly, and he gamely asked, "You ready for tonight? I see your personal fan club showed up." He gestured across the ring at Charlie.

Monroe's glare dropped as his face cleared with surprise. Charlie was there, all right, but she hardly looked like herself. She'd swapped her jeans and t-shirt for a short, green, spaghetti-strap dress. The dress was thin, and even across the ring, he could see the outline of her hard nipples, the full curve of her breasts. She looked like just another whore or townie, which he guessed was her aim. Charlie recognized the value of blending in, though a woman as gorgeous as her couldn't help but attract attention anyway. In fact, the dress seemed to have the opposite effect, as he noticed a tall, dark-skinned man next to her smiling and chatting her up. As Charlie smiled and tipped her head back in laughter, the man casually slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side.

Monroe's blood rushed with fury, but he stayed still. There was nothing he could do about it right then. Still, he stared Charlie down until she looked around, finally locking onto his gaze. She raised her mouth in a half-smirk and turned back to the man next to her, exaggeratedly interested in what he was saying. Monroe clenched his fists and whipped back toward Gould.

"Are we doing this, or what?" he demanded. He needed to kill someone. He really needed to kill someone, now.

Gould nodded to the announcer, who stepped into the middle of the ring and shouted in a loud, nasal voice: "Ladies and gentlemen! Back for the second night of a two-night appearance, prepare yourselves to witness the savage brutality of the one, the legend… JIMMY KING!" The crowd cheered and hollered, and the announcer continued. "IF you missed him last night, folks, don't worry-for tonight is the GRRRRAND FINALE! A fight… to the death!" The cheers grew louder, wilder.

"And his challenger… you've all gotten to know him well. Our current undefeated champion… Mister BUCK WALKER!" The dark man next to Charlie stepped forward, roaring at the crowd and doffing his shirt, throwing it to a screaming woman nearby. Monroe smiled grimly. _Perfect_.

Monroe and Walker stepped forward, facing each other on either side of the announcer. Walker bared his teeth, glowering, stomping back and forth. Monroe stared back at him evenly, lightly balanced on his toes, legs tensed, ready to spring. He realized he had no idea what this man was capable of.

"Fighters! You remember our house RULE! This is a fight to the death which means only one of you leaves alive! No truces, no draws, no compromises-our men are guarding every door to make sure of it!" He paused and wiggled his eyebrows at the crowd, drawing laughs and hoots. "Fighters ready?" Walker nodded eagerly; Monroe remained motionless. The bell clanged, starting the fight.

Monroe immediately lurched backward, giving himself precious seconds to take the measure of his opponent. The man was aggressive, following him forward, belting Monroe with a shot to the stomach. Monroe nearly always took the first hit-it gave him the information he needed to end things quickly. Walker was a righty. He swung under and up. He followed through with his torso. His eyes followed his fists. He was heavy on his feet. His legs were huge and muscular. Monroe knew he couldn't let himself get pinned, or it was over.

All this he thought in a split second, then came swinging back with a hard cut to Walker's jaw, followed by a quick jab to his eye. Walker roared, pushing his head down and charging at Monroe. Monroe used the opportunity to bash his knee up into Walker's throat, hunching forward to absorb the impact of Walker's skull on his ribs. Monroe stumbled, recovered, and launched a kick to Walker's neck that threw him backward.

Walker was still on his feet as Monroe stalked forward. Walker reached out to grab Monroe's shoulder, but Monroe intercepted his wrist, pulled the man toward him, and pummeled his nose and mouth with a quick series of hits. Blood spurted from Walker's face, splattering on Monroe's face, chest, and arms. Monroe grinned madly. This was where it got fun.

Still holding Walker's wrist in a vice grip, he yanked the man's arm back at an unnatural angle, relishing the crack of tendons and bones. Walker flailed with his other arm, bashing his fist into the side of Monroe's head with a loud smack, once, twice. Stars exploded in Monroe's vision. He roared and twisted away, creating space between himself and Walker. He had to get the man on the ground.

Both men collected themselves, Monroe shaking his head and hand, Walker wobbling on his feet. Walker found his footing and flew at Monroe with his powerful leg raised for a kick to Monroe's face. Monroe turned slightly just in time, absorbing the blow with his back, and quickly returning a kick of his own to Walker's planted leg. He hit his opponent just where he'd aimed, right below the kneecap. Walker howled and fell to the ground, the bones of his leg jutting against his skin.

Monroe leapt on top of Walker and began punching his face in absolute concentration. Pain surged through his fists, and his knuckles split open, oozing blood. Monroe felt his mouth curl into a cruel smile. Blood flew everywhere, peppering Monroe, Walker, and the crowd nearby. Walker continued to struggle against the blows, but with his useless arm and broken leg, he was no match for Monroe anymore. Monroe worked him over longer than was probably necessary, as a brief image flashed in his mind of the man flirting with Charlie. His Charlie.

Now it was obvious the fight was over. Walker lay nearly motionless on the ground, and it was time for Monroe to finish it. As his opponent coughed and moaned, and the crowd watched in breathless quiet, Monroe raised himself up, his bruised ribs lancing pain through his body. He dropped onto Walker with one knee on the man's throat, grabbing his shoulders for leverage, and pushed down on his windpipe. Walker's eyes widened, shiny with tears, as he struggled upward. And then he fell, his eyes closed, his body limp. Dead.

The crowd exploded into cheers, and Monroe sat back on his heels. His nerves were jangling with adrenaline. He felt incredible. There was no feeling on earth like killing a man in raw combat, a clash of warring flesh. Euphoria flooded through his body, and he arched backward, his chin jutting forward, eyes closed, both arms lofted over his head, his hands clenched into fists. The announcer grabbed one of them and declared, "The winner! Tonight's champion and still the deadliest fighter in the Wasteland… JIMMY KING!"

Monroe rose slowly to his feet, still shaky from the strain of the fight. He ran his hand across his blood-soaked face, and someone handed him a towel. Absently, he wiped his forehead, eyes, mouth, neck, then threw it on the ground. Slowly coming back to earth, he searched the crowd for one face. Charlie.

She was still there, standing as if in shock, just a few feet away from him, her mouth agape in horror. When his eyes met hers, a pained grimace twisted her beautiful face, and she backed up until she knocked into the person behind her. That seemed to shake her out of her trance, and she quickly turned and raced back through the crowd and out of the tent. Yanking away from the adoring hands now grabbing for his attention, Monroe rushed after her.

Charlie wasn't moving very fast, stumbling between the tents as if her feet weren't quite under her. Monroe easily caught up, grabbed her upper arm, and pushed her around to face him.

"Where the hell are _you _going?" he asked angrily. "Don't you want to congratulate me on a great fight?" His diction was sharp with biting sarcasm.

Charlie shoved him off of her. "You _killed _that man," she shouted accusingly.

"Yeah, no shit, Charlie. It was fight to the death."

"How could you?" she demanded.

"You'd rather I'd lost? You'd rather _he_ was the one standing out here with you?" Monroe sneered, inwardly urging her to say no.

She blanched. "God, of course not. I just-I wish you didn't have to kill him." 

Monroe laughed bitterly. "I got news for you, babe. There are only a few ways to earn enough diamonds for twenty men in two days. My guess is that you don't care to fuck Gould and all his VIPs for the money, so I did what I had to do."

"Bullshit," she countered. "What you 'had' to do. You loved it. You loved killing him."

Monroe paused for a few long seconds, then leaned into Charlie, getting in her face. "You know what? I did. I did love killing him." She gulped, either at his proximity or at his confession. "But you know what else I think?" His voice dropped into a seductive murmur. "I think you loved it too. I think you loved watching me."

Startled eyes met his, and there Monroe saw the truth of what he'd said. Charlie's eyes were full of fear, hatred, but also worship. Of him.

"I think you loved seeing how ruthless I am. How powerful. How invincible. Maybe…" he grabbed her and pulled her against him. Through antagonistically curled lips, he continued, "Maybe seeing me in the hot blood of a death match… turned you on."

She took a shuddering breath at this, let it out, then seemed to regain her composure. "You really think I'm that sick?" she said, trying to twist away from him, but he held her pinned against him.

"I think you and me, we're two of a kind," he answered.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Lemons ahead! Will love to hear what y'all think!**

Charlie shook her head, trying and failing to convince Monroe-and herself-that seeing him kill that man in the fighting ring hadn't turned her on. Her soaked panties told another story, and as Monroe stood before her still covered in his own blood and his opponent's, she just wanted him to take her right then and there. Still, she opened her mouth to protest.

Before she could speak, Monroe covered her mouth with his, kissing her savagely. He smelled of iron and salt and tasted of victory. He'd proven once again he was a ruthless murderer, but she was powerless to resist him. She'd thought she was turned on in the desert last night, but now Charlie thought she might literally die if she didn't get more of him, faster, harder, inside her. "Bass," she begged as he moved his mouth to kiss down her neck, wrapping his arms tightly around her, staining her new dress with blood. "Bass."

"What?" he whispered. His mouth was now moving down her chest, where he pulled the straps of her dress down, exposing her braless breasts. At the sight of her nakedness, he emitted a satisfied grunt and latched onto one of her nipples, suckling and biting ravenously. Charlie's head was spinning.

"Bass, I need you," she whimpered. "Please. Bass." She was nearly delirious with lust. How could she tell him… she needed… her thoughts twanged into fuzziness. Finally, God yes, he pushed his fingers inside her as he recaptured her mouth in a kiss. She bore down on him wantonly, soaking his hand with her wetness, rubbing her breasts against his bare chest. He thrust into her erratically, adding a third finger, but she was insatiable, needing only one thing. "Bass!" she puffed.

Suddenly, they weren't alone outside. "Where the FUCK is that sonofabitch?" Gould's voice snapped through the night air. "If he's left, he doesn't get paid, he knows that right?" Whoever he was with said, "I'll go look for him." Monroe and Charlie heard the tent flap fall into place as Gould went back inside.

"We have to go back," Monroe said huskily, still jamming his fingers into her sex, clearly not wanting to stop. "We… have to." His pace slowed and he removed his hand from her, pulling her dress back up. Charlie was dizzy with unsatisfied lust, but she knew he was right. If he didn't get back in there to attract the customers and earn his money for the night, all of this would have been for nothing.

They made their way clumsily back to the bar, holding hands tightly. A cheer greeted them as they walked inside. Gould hustled over, a fake smile plastered on his face, exclaiming, "I knew our star couldn't have left yet! Just getting some fresh air, there, folks! Come on over and have a drink with Jimmy King!" Gould tried to pull Monroe through the bar, but Monroe kept a grip on Charlie's hand and dragged her along with him.

Shot after shot was poured and consumed, talk was loud, laughter rang out, and all the while, Charlie's body hummed with desire for Monroe, whose side she never left. He seemed to have recovered just fine from their encounter outside the tent. He wasn't exactly gregarious, but he answered direct questions and, most importantly, was present. Someone had brought him a white button down shirt, which he donned and rolled up the sleeves of but remained barefooted as he had been in the ring. Streaks of blood were still visible on the sides of his neck and forearms, and his split knuckles had congealed into brown lines. His hair was slick with sweat, his eyes bright with feral intensity. He was the picture of a man fresh from battle. Charlie thought, for about the tenth time that hour, that she might literally combust.

Finally, without warning or a goodbye to the half a dozen or so admirers still gathered around, Monroe grabbed Charlie around the waist and steered her onto the dance floor. The band had set up as soon as Monroe and Walker cleared the ring and had been playing for about an hour. The band was perfect for a late night at a bar, the acoustic guitars and drums playing solid, sexy rhythms.

Charlie and Monroe joined about a dozen other couples dancing, in various levels of embrace. A new song had just started. Charlie didn't recognize it, but it seemed Monroe did. The singer crooned in time to a sultry beat. The woman in the couple next to them hitched her leg up around her partner's hip to get closer to him as they rocked in time.

Smoothly, Monroe moved Charlie around to stand with her back toward him. From there, she let the music guide her as she rolled her hips into his, feeling his hardness behind her. Monroe pressed back, and she bent her knees slightly, leaning her head back on his shoulder. They danced like that for several seconds, just enjoying finally being away from everyone. Even in a crowded room, they were somewhat alone at last. Monroe dropped his head down to kiss Charlie along the exposed line of her neck, then leaned forward to kiss her on the mouth. Her neck was twisted around almost painfully, but she didn't care. All she cared about was kissing him, more and more deeply.

Frustrated with the angle, she turned around and kissed him harder, naturally stepping into him with one of his legs in between hers. As they grinded in that position, Charlie's aroused pussy rubbed against Monroe's leg, and she struggled to control herself. They were still in public. They were still dancing. It wouldn't do to hump him like an animal in heat. Though she wanted to. Instead, the slow and steady rhythm they'd chosen built increased the friction between her legs to intolerable levels. Meanwhile, Monroe had molded his hands to her ass, pulling her down onto him, pressing his erection into her side.

The song ended and transitioned quickly into another, and Charlie took a beat to look up into Monroe's face. His gaze met hers, smoldering. Feeling hot, desperate, she pulled herself tighter into him as the band played on.

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After a while teasing themselves to higher and higher levels of arousal on the dance floor, Monroe lost his patience with Charlie straining against him and getting no relief. He wanted to pleasure her. Right there.

With the liquor buzzing in his veins and still high from the fight, Monroe didn't give a shit who saw. Slowly, he moved one hand off her ass and up under her dress to stroke her bare skin. Then he slipped his fingers under the material of her thong, finding her hot center. He quickly shoved one, two fingers into her and found the cluster of nerves inside that would give her her climax. Determinedly, he stroked her there, biting at the pulse point of her neck, desperate to get her over the edge. He'd never seen a woman so miserable with desire, and he knew that when she finally orgasmed, it would be like nothing she'd ever felt before. He wanted that, for her.

Charlie's breathing increased, and she pushed herself down onto his hand. He felt her abdomen tense up and knew she was close. The band wailed away in the background, and all the other couples seemed to disappear as he focused on her, giving her everything he could. Finally, he reached his thumb up and fondled her clit as he fingered her, and she practically jumped into his arms, her body shaking uncontrollably with her orgasm. A cry ripped from her throat, hidden from everyone's hearing but his by a crescendo of the music. Tears of relief streamed down her face, and she started to laugh into his shoulder, burying her face there.

Monroe gave a closed-mouth smile and closed his own eyes in relief, too. God. What a woman. What an incredible fucking woman he was holding. Her body weakened from the orgasm that had just torn her apart, she leaned heavily against him as they swayed to the next song.

Unable to help himself, Monroe pressed his still-raging erection into her body, hoping for some relief of his own. Across the bar, he met Gould's eyes and raised his eyebrows in a silent question: can we get out of here? Gould shook his head, "no;" they still needed to stay. _Shit_. Monroe grumbled with frustration, and Charlie looked up to meet his eyes.

"That was… I can't… thank you," she said, a little shyly. "That was incredible."

In response, Monroe bent his head down and kissed her, snaking his tongue into her mouth and again pressing himself into her. Following his lead, Charlie ran her hand down from where it rested on his shoulder, over his chest, over his stomach, and down to his crotch, where the leather ties of his pants were strained tight over his cock. She rubbed him firmly through the material, and he groaned into her mouth. Deftly, she untied his pants, loosening them, and stood aside slightly so she could get her hand around him. Monroe gasped and looked down at the sight of her hand wrapped around his engorged flesh. Raising his eyes up, he realized the whole fucking bar could probably see this hot little bitch about to jack him off in the middle of the room. He also realized: he didn't care.

Charlie worked her hand up and down Monroe's cock, and he knew it wouldn't take long. Feeling her come apart in his arms, after she'd been watching him like a hungry lioness for the past hour, had nearly driven him to completion already. And Charlie knew what she was doing. Her hand moved firmly and rapidly, stroking the length of him, curving over the head and back down. "Goddddd," he moaned, throwing his head back.

They'd long dropped any pretense of dancing, as they stood still aside from the movement of her hand on him. "God, Charlotte, yes. Right, fucking, there," he thrust into her hand with every word, and finally felt his climax overtake him. He pursed his lips and grunted loudly as he came. White, warm cum exploded out of his dick and onto Charlie's hand and his shirt. Breathing heavily, he pulled her off of him and fastened his pants. She held her hand out, awkward, unsure what to do, and he wiped it with his shirt carelessly. Then he pulled her back into his chest, closing his eyes in contentment now that they were both sated.

He wasn't sure how long they danced like that, wrapped in each other, occasionally trading kisses or idle comments. They were both too exhausted to go anywhere else, until finally Gould wobbled up to them tipsily and told them to get the hell out of his bar, it was late, then wandered away. Finally, they made their way back to the hotel, collapsing into Monroe's bed and falling to sleep.

A/N: Charlie and Monroe head back to Texas—and Miles. Next chapter should be posted soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Lemons ahead! **

The next morning, Charlie and Monroe didn't wake up until the sun was high in the sky, beating through the window of his room. They'd told Duncan they'd meet her at daybreak, so in their panicked scramble to get their packs ready and get out the door, they didn't have time to talk about anything that had happened the night before. When Charlie thought of how she'd acted, her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment. How could she have let Monroe-Bass-do those things to her, in public? But thinking of him fighting, and how he looked afterward, how she felt in his arms, she knew she'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

Hours late, she and Monroe rode out to the encampment where Duncan and her men stayed. Duncan was irritated with their tardiness, but a deal was a deal, and she sent the men off once she'd received the diamonds from Monroe and verified their authenticity.

As they departed, Duncan wrapped her arms around Monroe's waist and pressed her body into him, saying, "I hope it won't be long before I see you again."

He smiled tolerantly. "I'm sure you'll understand if I hope the opposite. Goodbye, Duncan." Charlie watched as he removed Duncan's arms from around him and strode away, then met Duncan's eyes behind Monroe's back. The older woman quirked her mouth up into a smug smile. Charlie's eyes narrowed. She was positive that Duncan and Monroe had been lovers, once, and it was clear that Duncan was not over him. As far as Charlie was concerned, they couldn't get away from New Vegas fast enough.

Their first few hours of travel were spent with all the men getting to know Monroe and Charlie, and each other to the extent they didn't already. Charlie tried to make it a point to talk to everyone. It wasn't pleasant to think about, but as the only woman in the group, she knew that for them all of to feel like they knew her was her best defense against some kind of assault. Well, that and Monroe, she reflected with a smile.

Her thoughts seemed to conjure him as he fell into stride next to her near the front of the group. He kept his eyes forward, and his expression was drawn, but at least he was walking beside her. They still hadn't really talked all day. Charlie had no idea where to start, what to say. Thinking of what they'd shared the day before just made her more nervous, not less. Finally she blurted out, "So, I managed not to kill you this time."

He glanced down at her, his expression not changing, "What?"

"This time in New Vegas. I didn't try to kill you," she repeated, referencing their conversation from before they'd arrived. It felt like another lifetime: before the desert, before the hotel room, before the dance floor. Charlie shivered.

Raising his eyes back to the horizon, he responded simply, "Oh. Yeah," then was silent. Monroe's walls were up a mile high, and Charlie was feeling more and more stupid. She had to find a way to break through.

Leaning into him playfully and grabbing his arm in hers, she teased, "You got off easy." Before she even got the words out, Monroe reacted, pulling his arm away hard and shaking free of her. He shot her a look of utter exasperation before marching away from her to join the men at the very front of the group.

Charlie stayed where she was, confused and humiliated. What had she done?

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Once they'd made camp for the night, Charlie parted from the group under the pretense of going off to look for firewood. It was a pretty transparent excuse, but she needed to be alone. _This is becoming an unhealthy pattern_, she thought. _Bass does something to hurt my feelings; I go running off into the desert. Sooner or later, I'm going to get eaten by a coyote_.

She halfheartedly looked at some logs, but eventually slumped down against the trunk of a Joshua tree and sat quietly, thinking over the events of the day. She tried to plan their strategy to attack the Patriots upon their return to Texas, to consider her first impressions of the men she'd met today, but her thoughts kept returning to Monroe. The time they'd spent dancing last night, after their insane flurry of passion, had been so calm, easy and almost sweet. Obviously, it had been the influence of the alcohol, the fight, or something. Now, in the light of day, Monroe seemed to want to forget it had ever happened.

"There you are," a voice from behind startled Charlie. Of course, it was him. Hot, cold, push, pull.

"Here I am!" she said fake-jauntily without turning around. Then, in irritation, "What do _you_ want."

"Charlie, I know you're mad. But I have to lead those men. I can't have you hanging on me like a cheap suit in front of them."

She didn't exactly get the comparison, but his meaning was clear. "Is that your idea of an apology?"

"No." He stepped around in front of her, so she could see him. "It's not an apology. I just want to make sure you understand."

She rose to her feet, brushing her hands off on her pants. "No problem. I understand," she said flippantly.

He studied her, his head tilted forward. "You sure? Cause you still seem angry with me."

"Just go away, Monroe." At that, he straightened as if he'd been slapped.

"So now it's 'Monroe' again?" he asked disbelievingly. She met his question with stubborn silence. "Seriously, Charlie, I-"

"I get it, okay?" She cut him off. "Stay away from you! Message received! Loud and clear!" Before he could respond, she turned her back to him and walked as fast as she could back to camp. He didn't follow.

Charlie knew she was being unreasonable. What was so awful was, she did understand. He was right. He did have to lead those men. Especially in these critical first few days, he had to gain their respect and trust, and he couldn't do that if they perceived him as lovestruck, distracted, weak. Charlie knew and fully appreciated all of this. Which just made her gesture earlier that day all the more humiliating. She'd acted impulsively, foolishly.

Monroe was wrong about one thing. It wasn't him she was angry with. She was angry with herself.

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Lying beside the fire that night, Charlie stared into it unwaveringly, intensely aware of Monroe laying behind her. They hadn't spoken since she'd fled from him earlier. They ate and prepared for sleep in silence, next to a fire about ten yards away from the rest of the men. She'd overheard Monroe telling one of them that he understood if they wanted to blow off some steam without him hovering in the middle of them, which the man said he appreciated. So Monroe and Charlie were back to the arrangement they'd had before: her between him and the fire. She wasn't sure which she was more afraid of being burned by. Actually, scratch that, she was completely sure.

She heard Monroe shifting around on his bedroll, but she looked steadfastly ahead, not about to give him the satisfaction of glancing back. Suddenly, she sensed the warmth of his body and heard his husky voice much closer to her than she expected.

"Charlotte." Her disloyal heart began racing, for him. "You can stop pretending to be mad at me any time." She didn't respond, instead closing her eyes, willing herself not to move, not to give in.

"You may be able to ignore me, but I can't ignore you," Monroe continued, his voice raw. "Not after pretending to all goddamn day."

Gently, he rested his hand on her hip. When she didn't move away, he ran it up over her stomach and pulled her into him. Reflexively, her body relaxed against him, so she covered it up by asking obnoxiously, "Aren't you afraid the men will see you?"

"No," he replied smoothly, clearly having already considered this. "They're far enough away. And we're in the shadows behind the fire here. We'll just…" he runs his hand up and under her tank top, fondling her bare breasts, "have to be quiet."

Out of retorts for the moment, Charlie surrendered herself to sensation as Monroe's hand continued to stroke her breasts and he lowered his head to suck on her neck. He bit her skin, pulling it into his mouth. Charlie pushed her hips back into him, finding him hard and ready. She cried out softly in protest as his attentions to her neck skewed too far over the line of pleasure into pain.

"Ow," she complained. "Don't you think the men will notice a hickey?"

After a beat or two, Monroe broke away. "Good. Let them see you're mine."

She shook her head and laughed ruefully at his inconsistency, then tried to roll over, but Monroe held her in place. "Stay like this," he ordered. Charlie grew still, waiting for him. Behind her, he leaned up one arm, then used his free hand to undo the button and zipper of her jeans. He tugged at them, and she took her cue to shimmy them just down to her knees, not wanting to take them all the way off in case one of the men wandered over.

The cool night air on her backside contrasted with the heat of the fire in front of her. And the heat of Monroe's hand, now running up her bare thigh, over her hip, and down her ass cheek. Then his fingers were probing her from behind. Impatiently, he nudged her feet up with his, so her knees bent, exposing her pussy to him. "Mmm," he moaned as he touched her wetness. He ran his fingers back and forth, up over her clit, down past her entrance, and over her puckered hole, spreading her moisture, driving her crazy.

Once everything was lubricated, he placed a finger over her hole, pressing it lightly. When she gave way to him, he pushed inside. Charlie was shocked by the pleasure, as he pressed into her firmly. Quickly, he pulled out, running his hand over her soaked pussy once more, stroking her inflamed clit. Then he was back, pushing his finger inside again, deeper this time, almost until Charlie couldn't take it anymore. Suddenly, Charlie realized…

"Bass, I don't think I can… I don't think I'm ready," she explained in a slight panic.

"Shhhh," he replied, removing his finger, returning it to her clit, rubbing gently. "I'm not going to fuck you there. Not tonight." Charlie's stomach fluttered at the implied promise that he would someday.

Then he took his hands off her as he rolled onto his back. She heard him unzip his jeans and pull them off. He was completely naked. Then, he was back against her. She felt him using his hand to guide his hardness into her. Excruciatingly slowly, deliberately, he pushed into her, a little at a time, until he was fully buried in her, thrusting into her from behind. Charlie closed her eyes, feeling full, complete, turned on by being totally at his mercy. As if reading her mind, Monroe placed his hand at the base of her neck, over her collarbone, putting slight pressure on her throat, making her swallow hard. He pulled her toward him and began to thrust more insistently.

As his rhythm increased, Charlie's breath escaped in small puffs each time he entered her, and she bit her lower lip to stay silent as the pleasure built. She could feel Monroe beginning to lose control, and she reached down between her legs to rub herself so that she could reach her climax at the same time.

"Yeah, touch yourself, Charlotte," Monroe whispered in a husky, tight voice. "Come for me… God I want to feel you come on me…" She threw her head back against him, concentrating on the feeling of him moving deep inside her, his strong hand against her throat, his breath hot on her cheek. Her body began to shake with her orgasm, and she flexed her hips desperately against Monroe's cock as he worked inside her. A few seconds later, she felt him push into her hard, swallowing a groan deep in his throat as he came, too, still buried deep in her.

Monroe quickly pulled out, and she heard him putting his pants back on. She did the same and finally rolled over to face him. He was up on one elbow, still shirtless, looking heart-stoppingly sexy in the lowering firelight. They didn't touch, just looked at each other for a few long moments. Monroe took his hand and pushed her hair behind her shoulder, then curved it around her neck. Resting his forehead on hers, he said, "You are so beautiful, Charlotte."

Laying back, he pulled her upper body down on top of him, and she laid there contentedly with her head on his shoulder, gazing out across the desert as he looked up at the night sky. "I wish things could always be like this," she said softly.

Monroe leaned up slightly, looking at her face, then dropped his head. "You're talking about when we get back." She nodded. "Miles." She nodded again and heard him sigh deeply. "I know. For now, it's just you and me. No one else matters." She nodded a third time, her throat choked with tears. His words had released a flood of emotions, and she didn't trust herself to speak. Finally being open about her feelings for Monroe had intensified them exponentially in the last few days. She didn't know what she'd do if she lost him now. His arms squeezed tighter around her, and they drifted off to sleep.

The trip back to Texas was slow and, to Charlie, agonizing. Monroe stuck with his policy of being cool and distant with Charlie during the day, in front of the men. For the most part, it seemed to work, as no one said anything to either of them. But Charlie noticed a few broad smiles and whispered jokes between the men when Monroe and she spoke, even about neutral topics like when they would stop for lunch or how the horses were faring. Every time it happened, Monroe's face flashed with irritation, and he would quickly move away from her. As a result, she'd basically stopped trying to talk to him at all.

But although they avoided each other during the day, Monroe almost always came to her at night. They'd started making camp with the men closer by, so they couldn't be together while sleeping. But he found other ways. One night, he followed her far out into the dark desert, spreading his shirt out on the ground for them to lay on as he pounded her into the sand, bringing her to an intense climax, her mouth opened in a silent scream. Another night, just a few days from home, he came upon her in the creek where she'd stopped to bathe. He stripped down, joining in the deep water. He held her up with her legs wrapped around his waist, penetrating her deeply, heating her core in the cool water.

Charlie knew she should probably stop him. That she should refuse to let him ignore her all day and fuck her at night. She should be stronger. But "should" had no place in what was happening between them. Charlie wanted Monroe just as badly as he wanted her, and to refuse him would have been like refusing oxygen. She was desperate for him, needed everything he would give.

At last, they got to Willoughby around noon on a day just over two weeks after they'd left New Vegas. The relief of the journey finally being over had everyone in high spirits. When Monroe pointed the men to the barn that would serve as their shelter and base, they practically ran over there, eager to unload packs, relax, and settle in. Their sudden absence left Monroe and Charlie alone.

"Finally," Monroe growled, snatching Charlie into his arms. For a few seconds, he just looked at her, and she smiled broadly up at him. He couldn't hold back his own smile, then lowered his head to kiss her passionately. She tangled her fingers in his short curls, pulling him into her. His arms tightened around her waist in response, lifting her up onto her tiptoes. The kiss spun on and on. When they paused for breath, Charlie panted, "Wow. Aren't you afraid the men will see?"

"I've kept my hands off of you in public for two weeks," Monroe said, bending down, nuzzling her neck. "At this point, I don't give a shit who sees."

"Oh, I don't know…" a sardonic voice about twenty feet away remarked. "I think there might be someone you still give a shit about." Miles.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Possible trigger warning. Skip the part between the x's to avoid some edgy lemons!**

Monroe looked up, meeting Miles' eyes evenly. He took a step away from Charlie but kept one arm looped impudently around her waist. Miles might be Charlie's uncle, but Monroe was her lover, and he was Miles' peer and best friend. He wasn't going to act like a scared teenager picking a girl up for a date from a shotgun-toting father.

"So it's true." Miles stated flatly. At their confused silence, he continued, "Rider got in from New Vegas last week. I asked him if he'd seen either of you in town, and he said he had. Practically ripping each other's clothes off in a bar. I knew he wouldn't mistake you, Bass, but I'd hoped he'd confused some random whore for Charlie." He paused meaningfully. "I see I was wrong."

"Miles, it wasn't like that," Monroe explained. "We were drunk."

Miles' face was inscrutable as he gestured toward them, saying sarcastically, "Are you drunk now?"

"No, I mean, I didn't mean to disrespect her by being so… public. For that I'm sorry."

"And what about this? Showing up after a month on the road, mauling my niece in my yard in broad daylight? Are you sorry for that, too?"

Charlie broke in, "He doesn't have to be-"

Monroe squeezed her lightly. "Hold on," he murmured to her. To Miles, he said, "No. I'm not." He battled with himself, debating how much more to say, whether any attempt to explain would just make things worse. He wasn't sure Miles was ready to hear how intense his feelings for Charlie were, how serious he considered things between them. And, truthfully, he wasn't sure he was ready to say it. So, instead, he just said, "I didn't do anything she didn't want me to do."

Wrong answer. Miles raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes, his mouth dropping slightly open in disbelief. "You didn't do anything she didn't… you know what, I can't do this right now. I'm sick of looking at you two. Just…" he stopped and shook his head, then turned on his heel and walked away. Monroe and Charlie stood twined around each other, watching him go.

When Miles was safely out of hearing, Charlie pushed Monroe away from her, glaring at him furiously. "What was that?" she demanded. "The best you can say about us is that you didn't do anything I didn't _want_? What the hell, Bass?"

Monroe immediately felt defensive, pissed at Miles, pissed at himself. He'd been totally caught off guard by Miles finding them. Not a feeling he enjoyed.

"Charlie, wait," he started, but she interrupted.

"No! I've waited for two weeks. Two weeks of you ignoring me, then fucking me, then ignoring me again. And then I have to stand here and listen while you basically tell Miles that I've been begging you for it?"

"What would you have rather I said, Charlie?" he asked. "That you're all I think about? That when I'm away from you, I want to be with you, and when I'm with you, I want to be inside you? That's what you want me to say to Uncle Miles?"

Disgustedly, she asked, "So, what, I'm just your fuck toy?"

"No," Monroe replied seriously. "That's not what I'm saying." He realized he could no longer avoid admitting what he thought should have been obvious. "I'm saying I've fought it, fought like hell, and I've lost. I've fallen for you, Charlotte."

A pause. And then, a smile played on the corners of her lips as she stepped back into his arms. "You've fallen for me?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to read her reaction. It was painful feeling so vulnerable, and he'd been feeling that way more and more often these days.

"You kind of suck at showing it," she commented lightly, running her hands up under his shirt and over his abs, not meeting his eyes.

"You're surprised a man nicknamed the Scourge of Scranton has trouble showing his feelings?" Monroe said dryly. He hated the old nickname, but it had the intended effect. Charlie laughed a little.

Smiling fully now, looking up at him, she remarked, "Well, we'll just have to work on it." She looped her arms up under his, pulling him into her for a kiss.

Monroe felt himself relax. She'd said "we." She accepted him, what he'd told her, his feelings for her. Now if he could just get Miles to do the same.

Awhile later, after taking a detour to check on the men, Monroe made his way over to the house. He found Miles sitting at the kitchen table alone, nursing a glass of amber liquid.

"A little early in the day for that, don't you think?" he joked cautiously.

"I could have said the same to you," Miles retorted, not looking at Monroe, raising his glass for another sip.

Monroe stepped forward. "I did a terrible job explaining myself back there."

"Really? Seemed to me like you had it all figured out." Miles still wasn't looking at him.

"I really care about her, Miles. I need you to know that."

Miles didn't respond for a few long seconds, and then he set his glass down and finally met Monroe's eyes.

"Bass," Miles said slowly. "I watched you fuck your way up and down the Eastern seaboard for over a decade." He paused. "I saw the women whose hearts you broke... the ones you discarded like tissues. The ones you destroyed." Monroe winced but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Miles was right.

"You know I saw all this. So when that rider from New Vegas told me what he'd seen, I got to thinking. I realized that if you'd started something with Charlie-given your history, and given my ability to easily murder you-it must be serious." Miles paused for confirmation, and Monroe nodded, relieved that his best friend understood.

"In fact," Miles continued, keeping his eyes steadily on Monroe's face, "I'd say that for any of this to make sense… you'd have to be in love with her."

At that, Monroe sat heavily in the kitchen chair next to Miles, now staring at his friend in disbelief. His mind raced with panic. He loved Charlie. Oh shit.

Seeing Monroe's response, Miles smiled ruefully, shaking his head and pushing what remained of his drink toward Monroe. Automatically, Monroe grabbed it and downed it in one swallow. With his brain feeling like it was working at half speed, Monroe asked Miles, "So you're okay? With… me and Charlie?"

Miles looked slightly nauseated. "If you love her, and you better be damn sure, then yeah. I guess I'm okay." The words seemed to taste bad in his mouth as he fumbled them out.

"Thank you." Monroe said. "Seriously."

Miles nodded. "Just. Please. Try to keep it behind closed doors, okay? At least until I've had some time to get used to it."

Monroe laughed devilishly. "I'll do my best, though I can't make any promises for her." Miles' head snapped up, his brows knit in a warning glare. Monroe decided that was his cue and quickly turned, off to find Charlie.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Later that night, Monroe lay with Charlie in his bed in the farmhouse. They were both naked, and after almost a month's worth of nights spent on hard bedrolls on the ground, the soft mattress and cotton sheets felt wonderful. Charlie's soft, warm body curled up next to him made it feel, to Monroe, more like heaven.

"Did you ever think we'd be here?" Charlie said dreamily, apparently feeling the same way as she ran her fingers idly over his chest.

Monroe closed his eyes briefly. No, he hadn't thought a man like him would be given a chance with a treasure like her. No, he hadn't dared to allow himself to think about it, to hope, until his feelings burned away the last of his resistance and he couldn't stop it anymore. But he didn't say any of this to Charlie. Instead, he said arrogantly, "I figured you couldn't stay away from me forever."

Charlie raised her head up with a pout and punched him in mock indignation, and he grabbed her wrist in response. She struggled playfully for a second, then collapsed down into his embrace again, with Monroe still holding onto her. Carefully, he turned her arm so that he could clearly see the M branded into her skin. It had happened in what felt like another lifetime. He'd been General Monroe; she'd been conscripted into his militia, branded as one of his soldiers against her will. He hadn't been there, but he was responsible all the same.

"I hate that they hurt you," he said with regret, placing her arm gently down on his chest again.

He felt Charlie shrug. "It only hurt for a little while. After that, I kind of liked having it."

"Why?" Monroe asked.

"I don't know. Maybe because it meant… I belonged to you. Or something. Even though thousands of people have it, so that doesn't really make sense, but… it just seemed kind of sexy. To think of it that way." Charlie sounded extremely embarrassed by her confession.

Monroe was struggling to keep his tone even. "And why would that be sexy. To belong to me." His dick was growing hard at the thought of a much younger Charlie, thinking about him like that.

She continued, "Sometimes I would think about you finding me. Seeing the brand. And then you would just… do whatever you wanted with me. Claim me. No matter what I said or what I wanted. You'd just… take me," she finished in a whisper.

"How. Tell me what I'd do." He was fully erect now, his heart pounding with desire for her, but he wanted to hear this out.

"I'd fantasize that you would tie me up. Or just hold me down. You were so much stronger than me. You'd hold my arms above my head and pin me down so I couldn't move. And then you would just fuck me. Mercilessly. I'd beg you to stop… I'd tell you… no. But you wouldn't stop, you would just… fuck me with your powerful cock and I would come all over you even though I didn't want to… but really I did…" Charlie's words were running together as she got more turned on, her lids growing heavy and her vision unfocused.

"You wanted me to force you?" Monroe asked gruffly. "Back when you were so young and innocent? You wanted me to come find you? Fuck you?"

"Uhh yes…" Charlie squirmed against him. "Ever since I met you I thought you were so hot. I didn't know how to make it happen but I just wanted you. Wanted you to fuck me with your hard cock."

At that, Monroe growled and flipped Charlie roughly onto her back. He grabbed her wrists and just like she'd described, pinned them above her head, holding both her arms in one of his hands, squeezing them tightly together as he pushed her down into the mattress. Charlie's eyes were wide, her lips parted in an aroused "o." He pushed her legs apart with his, and she offered no resistance. Charlie was below him, spread open, staring up at him heatedly. Kissing her hard, he plunged his cock into her soaked pussy, burying himself to the hilt.

"Is this what you wanted?" he demanded as he thrust into her. "You wanted me to fuck you like this?"

"No, please," Charlie said breathlessly, getting into her role as the young, innocent version of herself. "It hurts. Please, it's too much. Don't fuck me like this. Please, sir…this is wrong…" Her soft protests were belied by her hips working hard against his, her moans of pleasure.

"I'll fuck you however I want," Monroe shot back, pushing into her all the harder, bruising them both. "You belong to me. Your pussy belongs to me."

Charlie bit down hard on her lower lip, closing her eyes as Monroe pounded her into the mattress, still holding her immobile beneath him. "Stop," she gasped. "Ugh, it feels so good… please. Please stop, I can't do this. I can't let you do this." Monroe could hear her voice straining, felt her legs flexing around him. Suddenly, her body bucked as she came hard underneath him. "Please," she cried out as she came. "Please, I'm… I'm a virgin…"

At those words, Monroe roared aloud and his orgasm ripped through him. Cum burst out of his cock and deep inside Charlie. He slammed himself into her until he was completely empty, then finally released her arms, rolling to one side and staring up at the ceiling.

"Jesus Christ," he cursed, breathing hard. "Fuck." He looked over at Charlie, who was on her side, arms still raised above her head, smiling drowsily. Monroe closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he came back down to earth, his head still buzzing slightly with the intensity of what they'd just done. Rolling to his side to face Charlie, who now had her eyes closed, he said softly, teasingly, "You are a bad girl, you know that?"

Opening her eyes, Charlie met his and smiled, saying, "Yeah, well, like you said. We're two of a kind."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The campaign against the Patriots took off with the aid of Duncan's men. They conducted successful raids against Patriot supply caches that were guarded by few men, building their own armory and learning to work together as a group. Monroe and Miles both participated in every mission, and the men came to respect them both as leaders. Slowly, they began making plans for larger targets, more critical hits, and big-picture strategic maneuvers.

Charlie concentrated most on the latter, since she'd been forbidden by Monroe and Miles to participate in actual combat. It was incredibly frustrating. Before they'd left for New Vegas, she'd been right by their sides, mixing it up in small skirmishes with the Patriots. Miles hadn't loved it, but she'd ignored him and come along anyway. Now, with Monroe openly acknowledging his feelings for her and his desire to keep her safe, Miles was all-too-happy to back him up. The first and only time she'd grabbed a gun and started to march out with the men, Monroe had halted the entire mission until she agreed to stay behind. It didn't take long with twenty-two men staring at her for her to acquiesce.

Still, while they were at the house, Monroe and Miles continued to include her in strategic discussions, clearly respecting her opinion and input. And her relationship with Monroe deepened as they continued to spend every night together in what was now basically "their" room. Gradually, they'd become more public about being together, at first openly referring to their relationship and then exchanging occasional kisses or embraces where others could see. Miles didn't react, seeming to ignore the whole situation.

A week later, Charlie, Monroe and Miles sat at the table for their nightly dinner and strategy session. Miles was feeling disconcerted about contradictory signals they were getting about the Patriots' intentions for the area.

"The last few supply caches we've raided have been half-full, if that," Miles explained. "Like they haven't resupplied in days or even a week or more."

Monroe shook his head, "I keep seeing unfamiliar faces around town, though," he protested. "They've got to be sending reinforcements. Or recruiting from the area. Either way, it doesn't look like they're going anywhere."

"I agree with what you're saying. And they just moved their operations into the old Methodist church, a bigger facility-why do that unless they're planning to expand?"

Charlie cut in, "Maybe we're just looking in the wrong supply caches? We need to get fresh intel on where they are, how to get at them."

Monroe nodded, and Miles added, "We need to get long-term information. High-level. What their plans are, whether they're going to stay, things like that."

"Yeah, how?" Monroe said, frustrated. "These low-level fucks we keep interrogating don't know squat. They've got information locked up tight."

"We have to get to the officers," Charlie said. "Specifically, I do. I can finally make myself useful for once."

"What are you talking about?" Monroe said dangerously. "You're not getting anywhere near these bastards."

"Oh, no? And you are?" Charlie challenged. "Just waltz up to them, 'hey I'm General Monroe, wondering what y'all are up to these days?'"

Monroe glowered silently, and Miles stepped in. "Charlie, what are you saying?"

"I heard from some women in town that the Patriots are having some sort of social event at the church tomorrow. Sort of an 'open the new headquarters/welcome the new guys' thing. All the locals have been invited-especially the women," she explained.

Monroe was already shaking his head, but Miles was nodding. "Get in there, see if anyone will talk to you big picture," he mused.

"Right, just a, 'oh I don't know if we should be talking, how much longer are you even going to be here,' type thing," Charlie agreed.

"What!" Monroe finally exploded. "Are you both out of your fucking minds? Charlotte, you are absolutely not going to be bait for these Patriot assholes to hit on you and give you information. No."

"Why not?" she shot back. "I'm tired of not doing anything. I would just be talking to them."

"I don't even want you talking to them! I don't want you anywhere near them."

Charlie was furious. She was sick of being treated like a child, sick of hearing everything secondhand, sick of being kept out of the fight. She knew Monroe wanted to keep her safe, but it was too much. She had to get him to back down.

"Are you really that insecure?" Charlie said witheringly. "You think a five-minute conversation with a Patriot officer will send me running to his bed instead of yours?"

Monroe's eyes were almost black with rage, and he shoved back from the table and stalked out of the room, punching the doorframe hard as he went. Charlie and Miles heard the front door slam as he left the house.

"Wow," said Miles after a few seconds. "Way to hit him where it hurts."

Charlie's face was still twisted in frustration, "I don't want to hurt him, I just want to do this. He's being unreasonable."

Miles shrugged. "He cares about you. We both do."

"I know, but he can't keep me shut up in this house forever. I can be an asset to us. You know I'm right."

Glancing up at the door where Monroe had left, Miles agreed, "Your plan makes sense. It's relatively low-risk. And the officers might be careless in a social setting."

"Okay," Charlie said. "So it's decided. I'll do it. Tomorrow night."

"I'll tell Bass," Miles said. "He'll never accept it from you."

Charlie rested her chin in her hand, toying with her fork with the other. After a few seconds, she asked, "Am I crazy, Miles? Like, am I just not seeing clearly here?"

"About what?" Miles asked carefully.

"About him. Us. I don't know." She shook her head. "You know him better than anyone." It was awkward talking to her uncle about her feelings for his best friend, but Miles was the only person she trusted these days, besides Monroe himself. Charlie wanted to give him a chance to give her a dose of reality, if that's what she needed, before things went any further.

Miles could not have looked more uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter what I think, kid. What do you think? Does it feel right to you?"

Charlie stared into space. "It does feel right. That's what's scary. I love him." It was a relief to finally tell someone. She knew it probably should have been Monroe himself, but it still seemed too new. But Charlie was as sure of this as she was of anything: she loved Bass. She had for a long time.

Miles closed his eyes briefly, looking pained, and repeated, "You love him."

She nodded. "A lot. Like, crazy love him." Glancing up, she saw Miles' expression. "Sorry. You're the only person I've talked to about this."

"Obviously," Miles said dryly. "Look, Charlie, I can't tell you what to do. But Bass cares about you, too. If he didn't, you must know I'd have killed him by now." Charlie laughed. Sometimes having an overprotective uncle wasn't all bad.

Straightening and pushing back from the table, Charlie said, "Alright, I'm going to find him. Thanks, Miles. And be thinking about a plan for tomorrow night."

He favored her with a mock-salute. "You got it."

Rolling her eyes, Charlie ducked out of the kitchen and was quickly out the front door and into the cool night. She thought she would find Monroe in the barn with the militia, distracting himself with business, or maybe he'd made it further, grabbed a horse and headed to town, to the bar.

Charlie wheeled around the back side of the house toward the barn and stables, then stopped short when she saw Monroe's silhouette, just feet away.

He was leaning with his fists against the side of the house, his forehead lowered to one of them. His posture was all tension and frustration. As he heard Charlie approach, he jerked upright and stalked toward her, his face masked by the darkness. Before she could make a sound, he grabbed her face in both of his hands, cradling her jaw, and lowered his mouth to hers for an intense kiss. Charlie thought she felt moisture on his cheeks.

When they broke apart, Monroe kept his face close to hers. "I love you, Charlotte," he said with conviction. "I cannot let anything hurt you."

Charlie felt light with joy. She'd come after him determined to tell him the same thing. "Bass, I love you, too," she said. "You're… everything."

He tightened his grip around her, resting his cheek on her hair, letting out a long breath. "Then don't do this. We'll think of another plan."

Charlie shook her head, and Monroe continued, "I'm serious. I lost someone I loved a long time ago, and it nearly destroyed me. I can't do it again."

At the needy edge in his voice, her resolve almost crumbled, but Charlie stood firm, "I can't just sit at home while you're putting yourself at risk out there. Not when there's something only I can do, a way I can help. Bass, I love you, but I have to do what's right."

Monroe lowered his mouth to whisper in her ear, "It's so incredible. Hearing you say those words." He kissed her earlobe, then her neck, the subject of her mission against the Patriots apparently closed, unresolved for the time being.

"What?" she said. "That I have to do what's right?"

"No." He ran his hands lightly up under her shirt, over the skin of her back, making her shiver, as he continued kissing her neck.

"That I can't just sit at home anymore?"

"Charlotte." A warning, half-joking.

She pushed him away slightly, meeting his eyes in the dim moonlight. "That I love you, Sebastian Monroe." It felt so good to say it. The more she said it, the more she felt it, and she thought she would devour him with emotion. He looked so godly, looking down at her, his mouth drawn in seriousness. She tried the words out again. "I. Love. You."

"Charlotte," Monroe whispered again, this time reverently, like a prayer. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her lightly, once, twice. Just as she moved to respond more ardently, he said, "Let's get inside." They made their way back into the house, catching a brief glimpse of Miles sitting in front of the fireplace, rifling through notes on their prior missions. He said nothing as they passed and made their way up the stairs to their room.


End file.
